Draw a Line from Your Heart to Mine
by CreateImagineWrite
Summary: Being Harry Potter's best friend isn't always fame and beating off raving fans. It's also the anxiety of hearing your best mate's been cursed by another Dark Lord, or love potioned by some crazy woman. Or having his boyfriend you knew nothing about turn up on the Burrow's doorstep. Crime/Mystery fic. Drarry.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Most Unexpected**

Ron was a different person than he had been in Hogwarts. Of course, he still liked the occasional glass of Firewhisky (out of sight of his lovely but very opinionated wife, of course), and Quidditch, and his hatred of potions in general hadn't dimmed in the slightest, but his debilitating jealousy and such had faded over the years. 'Course, jealousy tended to stem from discontent, and he was the farthest from discontent as one could be, happily married and loving life.

Hermione was still the bookworm she'd always been, cheerfully delving into wizarding law and passionately defending the rights of magical creatures the world over. They had two lovely, if very rambunctious, children, Hugo and Rose, who he swore were going to get into more trouble than Fred and George combined, especially if Fred Mark II had anything to say about it. He was a successful Auror, working side by side with Harry, and he was respected for his strategic skills and spellwork. He felt more confident and sure of himself, and just as accomplished as his five older brothers.

And his jealousy of Harry… well, that had faded some time after the wards had been sabotaged outside Grimmauld Place and his best mate had spent three days in the house of some crazy woman who believed she was his true love. The love potion she'd used had been the _very_ illegal kind, and it had taken a while for Harry to come back to himself, in which time his marriage with Ginny – less than a year old – had been reduced to tatters.

It was hard to be jealous of someone when their life was so bloody _difficult_ all the time. He took a sip of his Firewhisky (which he'd charmed to look like water, Hermione was really quite opinionated about the vices of drinking, she was), and glanced around the Burrow. Renovated in the aftermath of the War, the inside of the house was nearly doubled in size, making room for the massive crowd of redheads that had flocked there for their weekly Sunday dinner. A bushy brown head and a ponytail of black braids were the only non-ginger heads of hair in the room, sported by Hermione and a very pregnant Angelina. A few of the grandchildren had more varied hair color, but he had a feeling that his two and his nephew Fred Jr. had run off somewhere with Bill and Fleur's three. Percy's two predictably well-behaved ginger children were calmly playing and reading in the corner. He had no idea how his brother had managed to practically recreate himself. Maybe he'd used the Geminio curse.

Harry's head of messy dark hair was decidedly absent in the throng.

Ron sighed. He knew that Harry got tired of people sometimes, but it couldn't hurt for him to spend some time with the family. It's not like they cared too much about his and Ginny's divorce. His sister was happily dating Dean Thomas, last he'd checked, and Harry had been practically a brother far before he became a brother-in-law. He couldn't even _remember_ the last time he'd seen his best mate outside of work, now that he thought of it.

The doorbell suddenly clanged (it had used to ring, but the twins had been playing with it years ago and it had never quite recovered), interrupting him from his thoughts, and he smiled. "It's probably Harry," he told his father, who had migrated to the edges of the group as well. "'Bout time that scrawny git showed up around here. I'll get it."

He navigated his way past a table practically groaning under the weight of his mother's food, and threw the door open. "Hey, mate, long time no…" He trailed off, staring. That was not Harry, that was as far from Harry as being not-Harry got.

"Malfoy?" Ron choked out, because, yes, Draco Malfoy was standing on the doorstep of the Burrow.

"Weasley," the blond aristocrat greeted him politely, and the sense of wrongness increased when the man didn't even sneer. "I know I shouldn't be here, but…" he trailed off, and then suddenly ran a hand through his hair. The nervous gesture threw Ron off balance.

"Merlin, what on earth are you _doing_ here?"

"I…" He trailed off again, and then seemed to steel himself. "I need to know. Is Harry here?"

Ron blinked. Surely he was hallucinating. Sure, they weren't mortal enemies anymore, it was hard to be when Malfoy was the Potions Master who supplied most of the potion stores in Mungo's _and_ the Auror Healing department, but… "No, he's not, but why…"

Ron had two seconds to recognize that something was very wrong before the pureblood's mask shattered.

"You're sure? He's…" The blond's expression was fearful, hands fisting at his sides, a stark contrast to the normally emotionless façade.

Someone came up behind Ron. "Hello, what's going on, has Harry… Jesus!" George stared over his brother's shoulder at the least likely person he'd expected to see. "What on earth are _you_ doing here?!"

The blond took a step back. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry." His hand shook as he brought it up to cover his mouth.

Ron took a step forward with him, the sense of wrongness settling like a shackle around his heart. "Malfoy… what's wrong?" – And there was a phrase he'd never expected to utter. – "Why are you looking for Harry?"

"I… he was supposed to meet me. We had… he was supposed to meet me, and he didn't show up, and he never doesn't show up, and I went to his house, but there's no one there, and I thought, maybe he was here, because there looked like, oh God, oh God…" The man was babbling, so far from the normally stoic, cold calmness Ron was used to seeing.

George took the initiative, grabbed Malfoy around the elbow and drew him through the doorway. "Come on."

"I can't," the blond tried to retreat, somewhere between panic and politeness. "I can't intrude on your…"

"You're not going anywhere until you've told us what's going on with Harry," George said sternly, and stubbornly dragged the least expected person through the hallway, past a group of suddenly silent, staring Weasleys and forcibly shoved him into an armchair.

"Merlin's beard!" Mr. Weasley managed.

"Arthur! Not in front of the chil – Merlin's beard!" Molly bustled into the room and stopped short at the sight of the now more-pale-than-usual Malfoy sitting in her living room.

"I'll just go," the blond managed, voice unsteady. "I shouldn't have…"

"He was looking for Harry," Ron interrupted him.

Hermione suddenly materialized at his side, and only his being accustomed to her Apparition-like appearances allowed him not to flinch. "Why on earth are _you_ looking for Harry?"

"Granger… sorry, Weasley," Malfoy corrected himself, automatically straightening his posture. "I… I…" His gaze flitted around the room, from face to face, and Ron thought he'd never seen someone look so uncomfortable and nervous. The man's hands were shaking.

A mug was suddenly shoved into the unexpected visitor's grasp, and Malfoy had to scrabble not to drop it. "I… thank you," he stuttered, staring at Molly.

Ron's mother tutted. "I've been a mother for over thirty years, young man, I can tell when someone needs a soothing cup of tea. Now why don't you tell us what's going on?"

Malfoy's eyes did one more sweep of the room before settling on the cup of tea, which he seemed to think was safe ground. "I… I was supposed to meet Harry tonight."

"Why on earth would you be meeting Harry?" someone voiced the very thought reeling through Ron's head.

The former Slytherin looked up, expression stricken. "I… We… He didn't want to tell you," he suddenly blurted. His face went even whiter than before, and words continued spilling out of his mouth like a dam had broken. "He was afraid of how you'd react. It's my fault. I've been horrible, and I was under the influence of my father, but I know that's no excuse, and I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, but he still didn't want to…"

Arthur clamped a hand down on the blond's shoulder. "Slow down."

Malfoy's grip on the mug tightened, knuckles whitening, and he took a deep breath. "I was…" The words didn't seem to want to come out of his mouth. "I was… we were…" He took another deep breath, and suddenly his emotionless Malfoy mask seemed to slide back into place. "We had a date."

Every Weasley in the room blinked rather rapidly.

"What?" Ron choked out, hearing the sentiment spoken by many of his family. The fearful House Elf look suddenly returned.

"He… he didn't want to tell you yet. He didn't know how, and I didn't want him to be unhappy and we decided, oh Salazar, we decided not to. But he was going to, and I'm so sorry, and…" His grip on the mug had tightened to the point Ron feared for the porcelain's continued survival. "It was our six-month anniversary," he suddenly blurted out again, and this inability of his to be calm struck at Ron like a blow.

"It was our six-month anniversary," Malfoy repeated, and his voice went distant, oblivious to the collective shock of everyone in the room. Even the children looked confused. "I had it all planned. All of it. I was… I was going to propose." His voice cracked painfully, and one of his hands freed itself from his mug to search through his robe pocket. Ron had a sudden urge to reach for his wand, but before he had the chance, the blond pulled out, not a weapon, but an innocent, all-too-recognizable black velvet box. He set it carefully on the coffee table, incongruous next to discarded Exploding Snap cards and plates of half-eaten food. "I was going to propose," he whispered, and then the teacup tipped from his fingers as he buried his face in his hands.

The shattering of the china on the floor went unnoticed as he continued. "I thought he'd stood me up at first. But he's never done that before, he always sent a Patronus if something came up, or an owl if he was angry with me, sent a Howler once in the middle of a restaurant when he was _really_ mad. He doesn't run from his problems – that's not like him!"

Ron blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing. He remembered the story about the Howler, it had ended up in the Daily Prophet, there'd been a bunch of speculation about who Malfoy's mysterious (and very angry) lover had been.

"I went to Grimmauld Place, but he wasn't there, and there was furniture turned over and floo powder spilled on the floor, and I couldn't find Kreacher, and thought Harry'd be here. I _hoped_ he'd be here! He was saying that you were going to drag him to a family dinner one of these times if he didn't show up on his own, and I thought… But… but if he's not here…" He lifted his face from his hands, and Ron had to register the fact there were _tears_, before someone shouted "Grimmauld Place!" and he turned just in time to see George disappear in a flash of green light.

"Daddy, what's going on?" a small voice asked, and he looked down as Rose tugged on his sleeve.

"And who's that man?" Hugo added, pointing at Malfoy with all the curiosity of a five-year-old boy.

"That's, er, that's…" It was with a sense of dawning horror that the only answer that came to mind was _'This is your Uncle Harry's boyfriend.' _How was this his _life_?

He resorted to patting his daughter on the head wordlessly, as he, with a sense of detachment, saw his mother pick up what was apparently Harry's engagement ring and open the box.

Molly's eyes filled with tears. "Six months," she whispered, "why would he not tell us?" She handed the open box back to Malfoy, and Ron had time to see a simple silver band, studded with three small diamonds, not at all ostentatious and exactly to Harry's taste, before it was closed again.

Hermione's hand slid into his own just as George's face appeared in the flames, mouth set in a grim line. "There was definitely a struggle, I found Harry's wand under the couch."

And, with a sense of déjà vu, thinking back to the many, many times when the Saviour of the Wizarding World had been kidnapped, or attacked, or cursed by Death Eater sympathizers, Ron wondered how he had ever felt jealous of Harry Potter.

* * *

Six hours later, Grimmauld Place was overrun by Aurors, several members of the Weasley family standing in Harry's kitchen, Malfoy looking pale and lost among them. Fleur and Hermione had left to go put the children to bed, leaving the men to stand silent vigil, waitingto hear anything. Ron spun Harry's wand absently in his hand. They'd already cast _Priori Incantato _on it, but all it had revealed was a stunning spell that had obviously never hit its mark, and a series of simple household spells before that, nothing telling.

And the floo powder scattered on the floor had proved to be useless as well, knocked over in the fight and not used to travel. A check of the Floo Registry had proved that George had been the first person to use Grimmauld Place's Floo network that day. Kreacher was, indeed, missing, and some House Elf blood had been found in the carpet, so the Elf had likely put up a fight as well. He'd always been rather feisty for such an ancient thing.

The wards hadn't been tampered with either. They were the strongest that could be managed, rivalling even Hogwarts' defenses, and even then, not one of the alarms had gone off. Nothing triggered, no warnings, no S.O.S. The Security Out-call Spell would've gone off with a single word spoken by Harry; it was a recent ward type created in the wake of Voldemort's defeat that would send pre-made Patronuses out to relatives and friends. Harry had set that particular ward up after his last kidnapping, and inspection had proven that it, along with all the others, was completely unaffected.

What could have happened so quickly that Harry couldn't trigger his wards, even though he had time to cast a stunning spell? Ron stared at the wand in his hands and wished it held more answers. Then Hermione entered the room, brushing soot from her shoulders, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Molly's watching the kids," she told him, even her murmur loud in the tense silence of the kitchen. "We're to tell her immediately if anything's found."

"When," Malfoy said suddenly, and they all looked up.

"_When_ something's found," he continued, voice quiet but firm.

The silence following that statement was very loud.

Charlie eventually cleared his throat. _Braver man than I,_ Ron thought. "So… six months, eh, Malfoy?"

"Yes," the blond said quietly, absently passing the black jewelry box from hand to hand. He didn't seem inclined to say more. His mask was back, and Ron found it irritating. He looked far too much like the bullying Slytherin they had encountered in their Hogwarts years, save for the endless nervous fidgeting.

Hermione was next to speak up. "How did you two…" She left the end of the sentence open, but her meaning was clear: _get together? Stop being enemies? Start, apparently, wanting to get married?_

The pureblood raised his head and cast her a wry smile. "He saved my life."

Yep, that was definitely Harry.

"How?" Hermione pressed.

Malfoy looked hesitant for a second, glancing around at the Weasleys in the room. It wasn't quite as daunting as his arrival in the sitting room, Ron supposed. Percy and his family had gone home, instructing the others to inform them if – _when_ – there was news, since Percy and Harry had never been that close. Only Hermione remained of the wives, and Arthur had gone to the Ministry to speak with various people. Ginny hadn't been at the family dinner in the first place, begging off because of a date with Dean, and they hadn't been able to contact her yet. That left Bill, Charlie, George, Hermione and Ron. Five people, compared to the original nineteen, if you included grandchildren.

"I had a bit of a potions accident," Malfoy began, nervous fidgeting increasing. Ron suddenly realized that the jewelry box in the man's hands was spinning without touching his fingers at all. "My magic has been… unpredictable since the war. It reacted badly with a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Hermione made a disapproving sound, which Ron didn't understand in the slightest.

"I shouldn't have been working with it while I was angry about something," Malfoy seemed to oblige her, "but Harry turned up at just the right time and managed to cast a rather powerful shield charm before the reaction killed us both."

"What kind of reaction was it?"

"_Sentiens igni_."

"But that would mean…" Hermione began, lighting up like she tended to do when confronted with an interesting theory.

Before Ron could wonder what on earth _sentiens igni_ was, his wife was interrupted by another person entering the room.

"Kingsley!" he greeted the Minister of Magic with a firm handshake. "What are you doing here?"

"Damage control," the dark-skinned man sighed, "Harry's disappearances always tend to leave a lot of wreckage in their wake."

"Have they found anything?" Hermione asked, accepting the Minister's one-armed hug.

"Nothing, unfortunately. They've determined that he was transported by unregistered portkey, but it was a powerfully well-made one, there's absolutely no trace to follow. And the wards are completely untouch… Merlin!" Kingsley finally noticed Malfoy in the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Charlie rolled his eyes and said bluntly, "He's Harry's boyfriend."

_Definitely a braver man than I,_ Ron thought. It was kind of sad, really, to find he still wasn't the most Gryffindor of his brothers, despite the fact he'd fought off Voldemort. Then again, he hadn't decided to make dragon-taming his career, either.

Kingsley blinked, and then sighed, clapping Malfoy on the shoulder. "Doesn't make things easy for himself, does he?"

"Not in the slightest," the pureblood managed faintly, and Ron had a moment to wonder what it felt like to have your sexuality outed to the most politically powerful wizard in Britain.

"Well, my only advice to you is to go home and get some rest. It's far past midnight," Kingsley stated, frowning. "We're calling in some Unspeakables, and we'll need to determine if Harry has encountered anyone who harbored ill will towards him recently, but knowing Harry… well, that likely won't determine anything. Hopefully we'll have some answers in the morning."

The group nodded as a whole, and Ron felt a sickening feeling settling in his stomach as he realized that once again, his best mate was missing and there was little he could do. He pulled Hermione closer, bid his brothers goodnight and gave Malfoy a tight nod, letting her Disapparate them both.

* * *

After Flooing mum and the others, and a probably inadequate teeth-brushing, Ron pulled on a pair of pajama pants and fell into bed, Hermione curled into his side.

His wife linked her fingers with his and spoke quietly, "The fact Harry didn't tell us… about Malfoy."

Ron rubbed small circles into the back of her hand with his thumb. "I… I can see why he didn't," he frowned. "I don't know if it's sunk in." He tried it out on his tongue. "Harry, dating Malfoy." A bit of anger pulled at his voice, but most of his emotions were sunk in worry, wondering if his best mate was okay.

"He seemed… to care?" Hermione said, hesitantly.

Ron snorted. "He had an _engagement ring_. I don't know if he could _not_ care."

"Unless he's doing it for the fame," she pointed out.

The thought seemed wrong in Ron's head. Maybe, if he applied it to the Slytherin they'd known at Hogwarts, but, seeing Malfoy, half stuttering and worried and barely thinking about the words he was saying, he couldn't. "I don't think so, I don't think he's like he was… before."

"Do you think we could get used to it?"

"If it makes Harry happy," Ron said honestly. "He deserves to be happy for once."

"You're taking it rather well," Hermione said, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"It's all a bit pointless, isn't it? Being angry when Harry's not even here to be angry with," Ron said. "I sort of wish he'd told us he was gay, at least. It's not like we would've judged him. Charlie's dated at least six guys in the past three months."

"Charlie's gay?" Hermione sounded surprised.

Ron turned to her, blinking in the half-darkness of their bedroom. "You didn't know that?"

"I'm fairly certain it never came up!" she said, sounding a little miffed.

He frowned. "If I didn't tell you…"

"You probably didn't tell Harry either," Hermione reproached. "So how could he know you were okay with it?"

"He… couldn't," Ron realized. Jesus, how long had Harry been keeping that one a secret, then? And what about Ginny?

"And the fact it's Malfoy…" Hermione pointed out. "I guess it'll be Draco, eventually. If they're going to get married and everything."

The thought was as foreign as a phoenix turning into water instead of flame. "Harry Malfoy," he tried, and then blanched at the very idea.

Hermione giggled. "That sounds…"

"Bloody hell," Ron moaned. "I am _never _going to say that ever again."

There was silence for a moment. Then, "You might not have to," Hermione said, voice hitching, "If Harry doesn't…"

Ron pulled her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. "He'll be fine, we'll find him, and everything will be fine. Harry always pulls through. Boy Who Lived Twice and all that."

"I just hope there's a 'Thrice'," Hermione murmured, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I hope so, too."

There was silence for a bit, and Ron closed his eyes, wondering if he'd even be able to sleep. His best friend was missing with no real clues as to where he'd been taken, he was apparently dating one of their childhood rivals, and had been for six months, and there had been an engagement ring. He wanted to strangle and hug Harry all at once. _Hug first, strangle later_, Ron decided.

He wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, heart twisting painfully. _Just so long as he's actually_ here _so I can do both._

* * *

**Disclaimer: These lovely characters belong to Jo, as much as I would love to take claim to their intricacies, but I only get to borrow them. The various theoretical magic concepts in here are all mine though.**

**So, other than my Drarry drabble series, this is my first foray into the HP world. And one of my very first forays into proper slash. There won't be anything explicit, but the typical boy on boy kissing and general slash topics may make an appearance, so if you don't like that sort of thing, you might want to stop while you're ahead. Though, honestly, if you don't like slash what are you doing on this side of the web? But, as always, reviews are love! And I just love love, don't you? ;)**

**(Now Beta'd by the wonderful Dagmar Buse, AKA Germankitty on AO3 3)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Honourable Action**

Ron stumbled out of one of the Floos in the Atrium, tiredly attempting to brush the soot from his Auror robes. He was running on maybe four hours of sleep and a cup of exceptionally strong tea, but he didn't think he could have slept any longer anyway. His mind kept drifting to Harry's disappearance, and he found that he couldn't just take the leave Head Auror Robards had offered him, or rather ordered him to take. He needed to be doing something, anything, to take his mind off the fact that Harry had once again disappeared.

He made his way into a lift, batting irritably at an over-affectionate memo zooming around his head. Who was sending inter-departmental love letters anyway? They were always so _annoying_. Thankfully for whoever sent it, this one jaunted off before he could summon the energy to Incendio it, and he made it down to the Auror levels in peace.

"You should be on leave," their receptionist, Anna, told him sternly. Or well, mostly in peace.

He gave her a sheepish shrug and continued past her desk towards his office. He didn't realize until he got to the office door and opened it that he'd half expected Harry to be sitting at his desk, there bright and early as usual with his usual sunny morning-person grin. The knot of anger and worry in his midsection twisted a bit tighter as he saw the messy, completely empty desk. _Godric,_ he thought,_ I miss him already_.

He turned deliberately away from Harry's half of the office and sat in his own, pulling a case report towards him and waiting for Robards to come yell at him.

It didn't take long, maybe ten minutes. Then, "Weasley," the Head Auror thundered, "I thought I told you to take the week off."

"Is that going to help bring Harry back, sir?" Ron said easily, not looking up from his report. He'd sadly had this conversation before.

Robards was silent for a moment, and then sighed. "You're a partner-less Auror, Weasley. You know the protocol."

Ron was perfectly aware of the protocol. It was like the buddy system his mother had implemented when he and his siblings went to Diagon Alley or anywhere. You didn't go anywhere without someone else. "Put me on Harry's case," he said, looking up for the first time.

"You know I can't do that," Robards told him sternly.

"I know more about him than anyone else, I know who goes after him. He's _my_ partner."

"You're too close to the people involved, Weasley," Robards stated, his tone brooking no argument.

Ron's anger reared. "You can't make me –"

"No, Weasley. Emotional involvement in a case leads to bad decisions. I know you fought with him in the war, and you two make a damn good team, but I'm not having you jump to conclusions just because you want him back faster. That's my final decision." He glared at Ron, eyebrows furrowed together. "I've got my best men on it. Go home."

Ron ran a hand over his eyes. "I can't. I can't go home and do nothing but worry over if he's actually going to survive this time. I don't care what you give me, but give me something to work on, because I'm _not _going home."

Robards sighed. "Fine. Finish those reports. I'll have you brought more."

"Thank you, sir," Ron acquiesced, and moved his attention back to the report he'd been working on, trying not to think as he deciphered Harry's messy case notes.

It was several hours later and several times that in cups of tea when he finally gave up trying to pay attention to the report he was writing up. The department had apparently taken Robards' orders as an excuse to hand over all the boring, bland cases that none of them wanted to write up. He was currently deciphering case notes that were even worse written than Harry's, and Harry's writing was notoriously bad. And at least Harry's notes were generally interesting. This set was about an incident in which a woman had thrown an Elf on the Shelf at a Muggle shopkeeper, reportedly because 'its spellwork was shoddy' and 'it didn't move.' It probably would have helped if he knew what an Elf on the Shelf actually _was_.

He reached for his tea mug – empty again – and got up, heading towards the door. As he did, two young, probably junior Aurors passed by in the hallway. He caught three phrases – Potter, Malfoy, and Death Eater – before he was out in the hall and clapping one on the shoulder.

The one he'd stopped flinched violently, both of them spinning to look at him.

"You know better than to gossip about cases in the hallway," he told them, putting on his best stern Auror voice.

"Sir," the junior squeaked, and really, was he that frightening? He was completely whipped by his wife and had two small children, for Merlin's sake.

"Sorry, sir," the other managed. "It's just, Malfoy, he's been taken in for questioning."

"And you chose to call him a Death Eater?" He could just imagine Harry's reaction to _that_.

"No, sir," they both said.

"Good, because he was pardoned," he told them sternly. He felt old. He didn't even _like_ Malfoy, but here he was, defending the man's innocence. He supposed he could put it down to Harry's insistence that the child Death Eaters had been just as damaged and manipulated during the war as they had. He couldn't really argue with that.

"Yes, sir," they agreed.

He let them go and wandered towards the staff room, intent on refilling his mug. As he filled the kettle again, he frowned. Something felt off. It made sense that Malfoy would be brought in for questioning. He was Harry's boyfriend – and wasn't that hard to say – after all. But the way the juniors had said it… He forgot about his tea and headed back down the hallway towards the interrogation rooms on the opposite side of the department.

A couple people tried to talk to him on the way there, but he brushed them off, getting to the rooms, that little instinct of wrongness pushing him forward. He stopped, feeling a little foolish, at the opening of the hallway from which the ten rooms which were occasionally used as holding cells branched off. What was he expecting? Torture? Screaming?

_You came this far, might as well check,_ he thought, and stepped into the hallway. A glance into the window of the first room revealed a friendly Auror taking a statement from a crying woman, offering her tissues and smiling encouragingly as he took notes. In the next, an angry teen wizard covered in runic tattoos was getting a stern talking-to from another Auror.

At the third, he stopped dead.

And then he'd wrenched open the door and punched someone in the face before he could even register the movement.

Malfoy was half-collapsed against the wall, struggling to breathe. The bottle of Veritaserum that the Auror had been trying to forcibly pour down his throat was shattered on the floor.

"_WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" _Ron yelled, enraged. He dragged the Auror up by the collar and shoved him out of the room. The man's nose was unnaturally crooked and bleeding profusely. "_HOW THE HELL WAS THAT WRITTEN CONSENT?"_

Doors burst open up and down the hallway, and Ron let go of the man, feeling disgusted. He pushed the door of the interrogation room closed to give Malfoy some privacy, and glared hotly around him.

"Weasley," Robards said angrily, "What is going on here?!"

"I'll be happy to tell you," Ron said, "just as soon as I drink the Veritaserum that he" – he pointed at the downed Auror savagely – "was trying to force down Malfoy's throat!"

There was dead silence in the hallway.

"Auror Parker," Robards said, and that must've been the man's name, "is this true?"

"He refused to take it," the man said, dragging himself to his feet, voice nasal through the blood clotting in his nose. "He's Death Eater scum, I'm not taking his statement at his word."

Ron wanted to hit him again, but a drawling voice interrupted him. The door must've been opened without him noticing. "Actually," Malfoy said, hand rubbing against the red finger-shaped marks on his throat, "All I did was ask for the _consent form_ to sign." He looked almost relaxed against the door frame, but Ron had paid attention in his Observation courses, and the tenseness in Malfoy's shoulders spoke of a world of uneasiness. "And he told me," Malfoy said quietly, "that he'd _show me_ consent."

The silence this time was worse.

"Follow me, Parker," Robards growled.

"He's lying!" the idiot yelled.

Ron bristled, but Robards just said, "NOW, Parker. And, Weasley, please escort Malfoy to his home."

"Yes, sir," he agreed.

The audience in the hallway lost interest and left as he turned to the former Slytherin. "Are you alright?" he asked seriously.

"Didn't realize you cared, Weasley," he said, drawl and Malfoy mask firmly in place. Ron couldn't blame him.

"Nothing personal, Malfoy," he said tightly, "I'd do it for anyone." He also figured that Malfoy would appreciate normality more than the gentleness he generally offered injured civilians. "We've got some of your anti-bruise potions down in the medical bay." He jerked his thumb in that direction.

"And I've got potions at the Manor," Malfoy sniped, tugging at his collar in a nervous fidget he didn't even seem to notice.

"Let's get you there, then."

"I'm not a damsel in distress, Weasel," the blond hissed.

"I'm not saying you are," Ron said, ignoring the insult. "Robards gave me an order."

Malfoy stayed, tense against the doorframe, before finally taking a step forward. "Fine."

As he led the former Slytherin towards the Apparition spot in the department, he thought he heard him mutter "bloody Gryffindors," under his breath. It almost made him grin.

"Where we headed?" he asked, stepping into the painted circle that represented the deliberately-made bubble in the anti-Apparition wards.

"Summerside Manor," Malfoy told him. The Malfoy Manor had been sold and demolished after the war, Ron remembered. He didn't miss it. There were no good memories in that place.

He concentrated hard on his four D's, and then turned on the spot, feeling the now-familiar pull at his navel tugging him through space. He popped into existence in the middle of a field, no manor in sight. He spun around, suspecting that Malfoy had given him the wrong name, but the blond was standing right beside him.

"Where are we?"

"Edge of the wards," Malfoy informed him.

Ron blinked. _What wards?_ he wondered, looking around. There was nothing here, nothing… except… he caught sight of a slight magical shimmer about a hundred feet in the air. He gave a low whistle. "Nice wards."

"Designed by the best," Malfoy boasted, and it was weird that Ron had kind of missed the smug snarkiness after all the tense anger. "You can leave now," he informed Ron.

"Can't," the Auror told him. "Protocol."

Malfoy bristled. "We're not on a _date_, Weasley," – and wasn't that an awful thought – "You don't need to walk me to the door."

Ron tried not to grimace and failed. "As if, Malfoy. Protocol says injured civilians must be escorted to either the nearest medical official, or, if injuries are not in need of professional attention, to their doorstep or nearest family member," he recited the rule.

Malfoy glared at him, and then sighed. "Fine. Come on then." He stalked off towards the wards, muttering under his breath angrily. He stopped and pulled out his wand as he reached a shimmering spot. "Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," he said clearly, performing a complicated wand pattern. He turned and looked at Ron. "And guest," he added.

Then he stepped through the wards, Ron trailing after him.

As soon as he stepped through, and it felt a bit like passing through his mother's homemade gelatine, it was like he'd Apparated somewhere else. On the other side, he'd been looking at an uninhabited, wildflower-covered field. Now, he was looking at a lush garden and a massive Victorian-style manor with an actual _tower_. And was that a _peacock_? The elegant cobblestone pathway led right up to a set of arched double doors with stained glass windows, and he could even see a set of Quidditch hoops over the hedge. Did he have an actual private pitch? Seriously?!

He realized he was gaping and snapped his jaw shut, but it was too late. Malfoy was smirking at him anyway.

One of the front doors opened suddenly and a vaguely familiar person stepped out. Slytherin, Ron recognized, in their year from Hogwarts. What was his name? Blazer? Beanie? Something?

"Blaise," Malfoy greeted.

"Draco," the tall, dark-skinned man said in turn, and looked at Ron, eyes going to his hair, bright red and telling as usual. "Weasley."

He remembered suddenly. "Zabini," he greeted.

"I heard you'd been abducted by Aurors," Zabini said, clearly dismissing Ron.

"My mother exaggerates, Blaise," Draco told him, looking exasperated, but his shoulders relaxed.

Then, suddenly, "You have bruises on your neck," and Blaise sounded slightly angry. He turned to face Ron, glaring.

Malfoy sighed. "Not him."

Zabini's hand was in his pocket. "He'd better hope it's not him."

Ron resisted the urge to draw his own wand and raised a hand defensively. "I'm not involved in the case."

"What case?" the dark-skinned man asked, spinning back to face Malfoy.

A stricken, angry, sad, hopeless look crossed Malfoy's face, and Ron blinked quickly, thinking he imagined it, but the blond had already turned away, Zabini moving to put his hand on his shoulder. It's a friendly gesture, comforting, though perhaps not as openly so as Ron would generally do with his friends if he'd seen _that_ look on their face, but it'd do. He took it as his cue to leave, turning back down the pathway towards the edge of the wards.

He heard Malfoy speak just before he moved out of listening range. "Do you remember when I told you I was seeing someone?" There was a noise of acquiescence from the other former Slytherin. "Well, he… it's… Har –" The door closed and Ron didn't hear the rest, but it was good enough, apparently Harry's boyfriend was in good hands. Ugh. He was never going to get used to that _word_.

He pushed back through the weird gelatinous wards and Apparated back to the Ministry.

Robards was waiting for him when he popped back into existence, arms crossed over his chest.

"You'll be supervising Malfoy's next interrogation," he informed him without preamble.

Ron blinked. "What?" Then, accusingly, "You said I wasn't allowed to be involved in the case."

"That was before I discovered you're capable of being objective regarding him," the Head Auror growled. "Which apparently my men cannot be. You will be here tomorrow."

Ron had a feeling Parker had been fired. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He stalked off.

"Right," Ron muttered, a bit bewildered, and then went back to his office to finish writing up the report about that stupid Elf on the Shelf, Harry's empty desk greeting him like a punch in the gut.

* * *

The next afternoon, he found himself leaning against the wall of an interrogation room, watching one of the senior Aurors set out a bottle of Veritaserum, a consent form, quill, and what Ron thinks might be a mandatorily written letter of apology from Parker. They've already tested the Veritaserum, they're just waiting for Malfoy.

The blond showed up exactly on time, bruises already gone from around his neck – that anti-bruise cream he invented had always been incredibly effective – looking just as relaxed as he had the previous day, which is to say, not at all. He looked at Ron.

"What are you doing here?"

"Supervising," he informed him. "Robards' orders."

The pureblood stared at him for a second, but as he turned away to settle into the chair, the tiniest bit of tension seemed to ease from his shoulders.

"Mr. Malfoy," the senior Auror greeted, "my name is Timothy Grey."

"Auror Grey," Malfoy replied, polite as always.

"I have here a consent form for questioning under Veritaserum. However, I can offer you other options in the form of signed written statements or multiple spoken interrogations with separate Aurors." He paused. "I would advise, given your history, that you choose the Veritaserum, but you will in no way be forced to do so." He said this very strongly. Ron approved. "The Auror Department expresses its sincerest apologies regarding your experience yesterday. Matthew Parker has since been removed from our employ." He handed the apology letter over.

Malfoy took it, but looked like he was visibly holding back a snort of derision. "You have my gratitude," he said

Auror Grey nodded. "I understand you expressed interest in consenting to Veritaserum yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes," Malfoy said.

"Good," Grey smiled. "I also understand that this potion is one of your own make. We've tested it, and it is of superb quality, as always."

The blond smiled, "I am glad to hear it."

The Auror had him sign the consent form and carefully sealed it away before offering the potion to him. "I trust you know the correct amount?"

Malfoy nodded and tilted his head back to drop three droplets of the liquid under his tongue. He swallowed twice, then nodded to Grey.

"What is your full name?"

"Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy."

"What is your birthdate?"

"June 5, 1980."

"What is your current age, to the year?"

"Thirty-two."

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy. I shall proceed with the real questions now. Where were you the day of August 12, 2012?"

"I spent the morning, afternoon and early evening at Summerside Manor in Wiltshire. I proceeded to a reservation at La Casa Ristorante at six in the evening, and waited for Harry. When he didn't show up, I went to his house," – he seemed to struggle over this, as if he'd wanted to say Grimmauld Place, but Grey seemed to understand – "where I did not find him. I then went to the Weasleys' home, the Burrow, and later returned to Harry's home and then back to the Manor for the night."

"Why were you meeting Harry James Potter on this day?"

"It was the six-month anniversary of our relationship," Malfoy said.

"Have you at any point subjected Harry James Potter to a love potion?"

"No." Malfoy's answer was short and uninflected, but his eyes went flinty.

"I apologize, Mr. Malfoy, but it needed to be asked to assure your innocence. Mr. Potter has had such experiences in the past," Grey informed him apologetically.

"I understand."

"How long have you had access to Harry James Potter's residence, to the nearest you can remember?"

"Four months, 2 weeks, 3 days and 14 hours," Malfoy stated without pausing. Ron and Auror Grey blinked at him, and a light blush suffused his cheeks.

"Were you aware of the nature of the wards on Harry James Potter's residence?"

"Yes."

"Can you list as many as you can remember?"

Malfoy listed them all, right to the Security Out-Call Spell.

"Did you at any point tell anyone about the wards on this residence?"

"No, except for Harry, we spoke about them."

The questioning continued along the same lines, asking everything from Harry's whereabouts that day, that Malfoy knew of, to the exact things he had done that day, whether he knew Harry's current whereabouts, whether he had been at all involved in Harry's disappearance, and whether anyone he knew had come into or still was in contact with Harry. None of it, except for the apparent attention Malfoy paid to the details of his and Harry's relationship, was of any news to Ron.

"Do you still feel a compulsion to answer my questions, Mister Malfoy?"

"N-Yes," Malfoy stuttered, blinking, which was the typical sign of the potion wearing off.

Auror Grey tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Very good. I expect it will wear off within ten minutes. May I ask you to return tomorrow to continue the questioning?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, pupils dilating weirdly as the Veritaserum wore off.

"Good, Auror Weasley and I shall step out a moment while you adjust. We shall be right outside the door if you need anything."

Malfoy nodded, looking a bit out of it, and the two of them left the room.

As the door closed, Ron asked, "How'd that go?"

"Very well," Auror Grey asserted. "However, one of the weaknesses of Veritaserum is that it relies on memory, as I'm sure you recall from your classes?"

Ron nodded.

"I did note that when I asked whether he had told anyone about the wards on Auror Potter's residence, his left hand twitched. If you recall, that is one of the tells?" He paused to see Ron's acquiescence. "He answered negatively, which indicates he doesn't remember telling anyone, but the tell indicates that he did at some point mention the wards. He may have been inebriated, or experienced memory modification. However, for all we know, he may have just mentioned one of the spells offhand, and, at any rate, it was assuredly not him who conducted your partner's disappearance, even if he may have inadvertently passed along information."

"Which is good, because it means he's innocent."

"Very good," Auror Grey agreed. "I shall continue the questioning tomorrow. I trust you can escort Mr. Malfoy to the Apparition point?"

"Yes, sir."

When Malfoy opened the door, still looking a bit like he'd had a brush with a Bludger, it was to tell him that "I am very tired of you being my guide dog, Weasley."

And Ron, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why, just smiled at him.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Still Jo's, though all these random Aurors are mine. I don't like Parker. I'm glad I fired him. And had Ron punch him in the face.**

**Hope you're enjoying the story! Keep reviewing for me, will you? ;)**

**(Now Beta'd by the fabulous Dagmar Buse, AKA Germankitty on AO3!)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Conversations**

When his shift ended on Friday, Ron walked out of the Ministry on foot. The fresh air on his face was heavenly, even if London had decided to sport a cloudy sky in August. The knot of worry in his heart had tightened into something tangible and solid, and he pulled a charmed Galleon out of his pocket with a frown on his face.

He didn't think he could go home right now, to kids who would ask, once again, after their Uncle Harry. To a wife who was barely sleeping and whom he found practically unconscious in the house's book-filled study more often that she ended up in their actual bed. It was nearly five days, _five days,_ since Harry had disappeared, and they had nothing, absolutely nothing to work with. No leads, no clues, nothing.

Malfoy's further two Veritaserum interrogations had revealed nothing, except that the man was incredibly devoted to and serious about Harry. The only tell that had occurred was the first one, when he said he'd spoken to no one about the wards. They'd even tried asking if he had ever been inebriated to the point of forgetting things, or if he'd experienced any memory loss in the time he'd been with Harry. All that had revealed was that red flushes were very noticeable on Malfoy's skin, and that apparently getting excessively drunk was something he and Harry did on occasion. Ron didn't know what to do anymore.

He ducked into an alley, out of sight of the Muggles, and pulled out his wand. Touching it to the Galleon, he wrote, "GOING 2 WWW. OK?"

A few seconds later, he got an answer. "OK. C U L8ER." It'd taken him a while to get used to Muggle text-speak, as 'Mione called it, but it was faster than spelling out whole sentences on the Galleons and having to wait as it cycled through on the coin.

He rubbed a hand over his face and wrote, "LUV U," before pocketing the coin and setting off towards the Leaky Cauldron. He smiled when he felt her reply glow warm in his pocket.

Tom greeted him from behind the bar, all crooked teeth and cheerfulness. "Just heading through?" he asked.

Ron nodded, and the barman waved him towards the back. A wand tap to a certain brick later and he was walking through Diagon Alley, feeling comforted by the usual hurried hustle and bustle of the streets, so different from the eerie, wary silences of the war. At least Harry's disappearances didn't mean imminent battle for the entire Wizarding World anymore.

The thought made him frown, and he walked the rest of the way to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with a furrow in his brow and his stomach tightening in knots.

The store was just as loud and busy as ever, George's hired hands working frantically at the tills. Lee Jordan popped out of nowhere within seconds of him entering, a ridiculous amount of joke product balanced in his arms.

"Hey, Ron!" He greeted, all smiles, though his eyes weren't quite bright enough to match. "George's in the back. Try to make sure you don't startle him. I think he's working on something explosive." He winked and then he was gone again, shelving products at what should be inhuman speed.

Ron worked his way through the crowd of apparently joke-starved children and finally pushed his way into the much quieter back room. He had never been so glad for Silencing Charms. Sure enough, his brother was bent attentively over a cauldron, notebook in one hand and crystal stirring stick in the other. He waited for George to put the stuff down before he stepped forward.

"Hey," he said, peering curiously at what looked to be a set of living fuzzy slippers, complete with twitching bunny ears and blinking blue eyes.

"Hey," George greeted, looking up briefly. "Give me five minutes and this should be stable enough to put under a stasis charm."

_Should?_ Ron thought, and was immeasurably glad when George cast a shield charm on top of the stasis charm five minutes later.

George looked at him for a second, perceptive as ever, and then said, "Firewhisky?"

"Merlin, yes."

A little later they were both seated at the island in the kitchenette George had installed to ensure he didn't starve too badly when he got caught up in a project, whisky glasses in hand.

"Bad week?"

"Yeah," Ron said, staring at the ice cubes melting far too fast in his glass.

"Anything come up about Harry?"

The younger brother took a large sip of the alcohol and set it down before burying his face in his hands. "Nothing, literally nothing. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth, George. Him and Kreacher. Just gone."

"And Malfoy?"

"Clean as a Kneazle's fur." He blew out a long breath and looked at his brother. "He really bloody loves him, you know. He could tell us, _to the hour_, when Harry first let him into to Grimmauld Place."

George raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, and not just that either. Every answer was weirdly detailed, like he's memorized everything perfectly. Usually you get some struggling, even with Veritaserum, to perfectly restructure conversations with people. He didn't so much as blink." He swirled what little ice cubes remained in his glass. "Blushes like mad, too."

George's lips crooked in a half-smile. "I'd bet, with that skin."

Ron barked a laugh, before sobering. "What if he's really gone this time, George?"

His brother reached across the table and clapped a hand over his. "It's only been five days. Harry's lasted longer than this before."

Yeah, he had, Ron thought, swallowing the last of the Firewhisky. That time with the love potion had only been three days before they found him. But the time he'd been trapped inside a portrait when he'd accidentally triggered a curse in Grimmauld place? That had been over two weeks. And the time he'd gotten transfigured into a chair by a dark wizard in a bookshop? Over three.

"It wasn't like this before, though, George," Ron said, eyebrows furrowing. "There's always been clues, always ways to figure it out and get him back. This time… nothing, just… _nothing_."

The older brother squeezed his hand, eyes tight, just as they'd been years ago, after the war, after they'd lost Fred. "You just haven't looked in the right places yet, that's all. Give it time."

Ron sighed, and then smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, you're right." He lifted his empty glass half-heartedly. "I should go. 'Mione'll be waiting for me."

George took the glass. "Give her a hug from me."

"Will do."

He turned towards the door.

"Ron?"

He glanced back.

"We're here, if you need anything."

Ron managed an honest smile at that. "Yeah, I know." Then he stepped through the door. Navigating the excessively loud masses of shop-goers took only a second, and he slipped back onto Diagon Alley with relief.

He should go home, he should go back to his house, his wife, his kids. He should make dinner, and read the kids one of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, should convince Hermione to go to bed, and try and get some sleep himself. He should do anything but stand here in the middle of a busy street and stare at where Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour is being closed down for the night and remember the many times he's met Harry there with the kids.

Why couldn't he have been best friends with someone who didn't manage to get themselves nearly killed so often? Neville, perhaps, or maybe Seamus. Shaking his head, he pulled his wand from his sleeve, intending to Apparate.

For a second, he thought of home, of Hermione and Hugo and Rose.

But… _'You just haven't looked in the right places yet, that's all.'_ After a moment's deliberation, Ron sighed, and turned on the spot.

A second of feeling like being squeezed through a tight tube later, he was standing on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. The door, a shiny painted red after Harry's renovation spree two years prior, didn't have a doorknob, but he placed his hand where one should've been anyways. The windows seemed accusing in their darkness.

The wards went cold for a second, assessing, and then accepted him. The door swung open into the creepily silent and dark front hallway, seeming far too much like it had during the war, rather than the bright, sunlit home Harry had renovated it into.

"Lumos," Ron said, and was relieved when his wand lit up the alcove in which Mrs. Black's protract had originally taken up residence. Instead of a screaming banshee of a Dark witch, the spell illuminated an artfully arranged set of Wizarding photographs: Hugo and Rose, George and Angelina's wedding, his and Hermione's trip to Paris, a massive photo of the entire Weasley clan, waving cheerily at him through the glass – Harry's family.

He followed the collection of photos down the hall, trying not to notice the empty space of wall where Harry and Ginny's wedding photo had used to hang, letting them lead him into the sitting room and connected dining room and kitchen. The fire was cold, and a couple dirty dishes sat by the sink, stark signs of Kreacher's absence.

Ron sighed.

Something clattered to the floor somewhere in the dark.

Ron spun around, wand at the ready. The sound came from the living room, where George had found Harry's abandoned wand.

"Nox," Ron whispered, plunging the room into darkness. He waited a moment to let his eyes adjust, then stepped, carefully and slowly, towards the room's doorway.

Closer, he could hear the floor creaking, and someone breathing in a rather odd way, choppy. He took a quick look around the doorframe, but whoever it was stood just outside the area of the room he could see. Wondering briefly if it'd be better to call for backup – and then thinking that whoever it was would be long gone before he could get to the Ministry and back, he took a steadying breath, and then strode purposely into the room.

"Expelliarmus!"

The figure near the window made a startled sound as their wand flew across the room into Ron's grasp, platinum blond hair stark even in the unlit room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron said, feeling his ears going red. "Jesus, Malfoy." He turned and pointed his wand at the room's chandelier – "Lumos."

The chandelier lit up briefly, and then dimmed. "Bloody hell," Ron growled, glaring at it. "Lumos, for Merlin's sake." It lit up that time, if a bit reluctantly. Ron was not, after all, a Black, and the house was not very welcoming of non-Blacks, except for Harry. He turned back to the former Slytherin, who was wiping a robe-clad arm over his eyes. "What were you doing standing around in the dark?"

The blond turned away, hair falling across his cheekbone to cover his face, before removing his hand from his eyes.

"Malfoy?" Ron asked, a bit concerned now.

"I'm fine, Weasley," the other man said, voice sounding strange.

"You don't sound f – "

"I'm _fine_," he snapped, finally turning to glare at Ron.

The redhead blinked, taking in tellingly red-rimmed eyes. Had he been crying? Merlin, where was 'Mione when you needed her? "Right," he said, deciding to let him keep his dignity.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment.

"What are you doing here anyways?" Malfoy asked, sounding tired.

"Thought I'd take a look around, see if we missed anything," Ron said. "It's been –"

"Five days," Malfoy finished for him, and then looked down at the ground, where a photograph lay face down, probably what he'd heard fall. He picked it up – Ron caught a brief glimpse of Harry's parents – and then carefully, almost lovingly, set it back on the cabinet near the wall.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron asked.

Malfoy made a frustrated sound. "Looking. Same as you. Salazar, I feel – I feel so _useless_." He spun to look around the room, running a hand violently through his hair, and then held his hand roughly out to the redhead, glaring. "Give me my wand."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"My _wand, _Weasley."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." He handed it back, wondering if it was quite safe to give it back when Malfoy was so –

The blond pureblood flourished his wand at the room, and Ron took a step back.

"Homenum Revelio." Nothing happened.

"Specialis Revelio," Malfoy tried. Again, nothing.

Manic, that was the word Ron was looking for. Malfoy seemed a bit… _manic_.

"Accio Portkey." Nothing.

"Aparecium!" Nothing.

"Malfoy," Ron tried, feeling a bit worried by the constant, progressively louder spellcasting. "They would've tried –"

"Creaturae Revelio!" And, suddenly, something glowed from behind the curtains tied back at the window.

For a second, they both just stared at the blue lit up spot, before glancing at each other.

"I hadn't heard that one before," Ron said.

"It's supposed to reveal creatures, non-humans," Malfoy said. "I just thought… with Kreacher."

The glowing spot, thankfully, was much too small to be Kreacher. Ron took a cautious step forward. "Mobiliarbus," he said, flicking his wand to the side.

As soon as the curtain moved, Malfoy made a noise halfway between a snort and an angry snarl, and stalked out of the living room.

A dead Doxy was lying on the floor against the wall, just where the curtain would've hid it. Disappointed, but not quite as much as Malfoy seemed to be, Ron gave it a quick inspection. Odd. It seemed to have starved, or maybe dehydrated, to death, if the emaciation was anything to go by, and was in a somewhat weird position. Also, definitely starting to smell.

"Depulso," Ron said, making a face, Banishing both Doxy corpse and smell from the room, and then followed the sound of Malfoy's frustrated breathing back into the dining room.

The Potions Master's knuckles were white in their grip on the back of one of the dining chairs, and, speaking of emaciation, did Malfoy ever _eat?_ Merlin, he looked even skinnier from this angle.

"Malfoy," the Auror tried.

"A Doxy," the blond muttered. "A _bloody _Doxy."

"Look, Malfoy –"

"Five days he's been missing, and all we can find is a _bloody Doxy!_" By the end of the sentence, the man was shouting.

"Er –"

Before Ron could even articulate anything, the blond had covered the distance between them and had his wand jabbed against his rib cage.

"Are you even doing _anything_ to find him?!" the former Slytherin shouted.

Yep, definitely shouldn't have given his wand back. Ron raised his hands in a gesture of peace, wishing he hadn't put his wand back in his sleeve. "Easy, Malfoy!"

"You _bring him back_!" Malfoy shouted. "Do you have _any_ idea what the Death Eaters could do to people in _five days_? You –"

"Draco!"

That seemed to make an impression.

"I – You – Weasley…"

"It's alright," Ron said, and had a weird sense of déjà vu not back to their school days, but to every single time he'd had the unfortunate duty of informing a family that their husband, or wife, or son, or daughter, was dead. Jesus. This wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting from _Malfoy_. And usually he went into those encounters with a Shield charm up. "Just put the wand down, okay?"

Malfoy looked at his wand, still pressed uncomfortably close to Ron's heart.

"I –"

"Move the wand, Draco," Ron said, a bit more sternly.

Malfoy did, and took a shaky step back. "I – I – Sorry."

Ron put several feet between them, barely blinking as he looked at the blond. There was no pureblood mask now, no sneer, just the same uncomprehending, victimized expression that he'd seen on way too many people in his days as an Auror. Bloody hell, it was like looking at a different person. This was freaking him out. "I'm going to get you a Calming Draught."

"What?" Malfoy's eyes flashed to his. "I don't need –"

"Yes, you do." Well, if Malfoy was going to act like a victim, Ron was going to _treat _him like a victim. Even if it felt bloody bizarre. "Wait here." He turned away, surprised that he didn't feel too weird about turning his back on the man. He jogged quickly back towards the stairs that lead to Grimmauld's second floor, and rooted through Harry's bathroom cabinet. Taking note of a Sleekeazy's Hair Potion for Beauteous Blondes that was definitely not Harry's, he located a cheery yellow potion in among a bunch of Hangover Draughts.

Malfoy was still in the dining room when Ron got back, staring at his wand and looking tired.

"Here. Even looks like it's one of yours," Ron said, handing over the little bottle emblazoned with the Malfoy crest.

The Potions Master took it, rolling it between his fingers. "Weasley –"

"Drink it."

He glared at Ron for a moment, and then did, before Banishing the bottle with a wave of his hand.

"Feel better?" Ron asked.

The blond glared at him a bit harder. "In your company?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

The blond gave him a suspicious look.

"Look, Malfoy," Ron sighed. "You aren't the only one who wants Harry back safe, you know. We're going to find him. We always find him. He spent three weeks as a chair in a bookshop in Dorchester and we still found him. It's only been five days." Five days that felt like an eternity, but he was looking to calm Malfoy down, not rile him up. "We'll find him, and he'll be fine."

"How can you promise that?" Malfoy snapped.

"Because I won't believe any different! He's Harry!" Ron spread his arms expressively. "The Chosen One, the bloody Boy Who Lived Twice."

"And he's also a bloody idiot who can't take care of himself!"

"That's why he has us!" Merlin, did he just say 'us' in a way that included Malfoy and him? As in a team, together? Because bloody hell. "Look, we're going to find him, and he'll be fine, but hanging around in this empty house isn't going to do him, or you, any good."

"And hanging around in _my_ house will?" Malfoy snarled.

Ron sighed, and then tried again. "Draco, just go home, get some sleep, eat something, make some Potions, do whatever it is you normally do. I promise I'll let you know first thing if we find anything. And I promise we're looking."

"Swear it?"

"I'll give you a Wizard's Oath if I have to."

The former Slytherin stared at him, seemed satisfied. "That won't be necessary."

On sudden impulse, Ron said, "And come to Sunday Dinner. At the Burrow."

The man's sneer turned to a wry expression. "I highly doubt I'll be welcome, Weasley."

Trying not to regret it, Ron said, "We're going to find Harry, and that means you're going to be part of the family. We might as well start now. And someone needs to feed you. You look worse than Harry used to."

Malfoy stared at him. "I'll think about it." He swept past, towards Grimmauld's front door. As we just about to enter the front hallway, he paused. "And Weasley, if you ever call me by my first name again, I'll hex you."

Ron barked a laugh. "Whatever you say, Malfoy."

He didn't think he imagined the slight smile in response.

* * *

**Disclaimer: It's a Jo's world, after all. **

**Sorry this bit took so long. 3****rd**** year college and all that. It gets hectic. This story is fully outlined, so there should be a total of 10 chapters plus epilogue, but I make no promises. I'll try to publish a bit more often than every 8 months, though. **


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